The Countess
by Arehonda
Summary: Present day: A young American woman studying in Cairo seeks to uncover the mysterious past of the wife of Thutmose's most trusted advisor, Count Sheftu.
1. Chapter 1

Note- In _Mara: Daughter of the Nile_ it is mentioned several times that Thutmose is Hatshepsut's half-brother, but, while Hatshepsut did have a half-brother named Thutmose (who was also her husband), the Thutmose that succeeded her was Thutmose III, her step-son and nephew, the son of her husband's lesser wife.

Chapter I.

The sun in Cairo was harsh to my fair skin. I wore a light-weight, long-sleeved button shirt and broad-brimmed straw hat every time I went outside, even if it was only for a few minutes. I also wore sunblock- lots of sunblock. On days like today, when at eight in the morning the sun was already threatening to burn me to a crisp, the blistering heat was almost enough to make me long for the cool, lush, rain-soaked green of the Northwest United States, where I had spent the first 21 years of my life.

Almost.

For though Egypt's climate is not particularly kind to pale-skinned, blue-eyed red-heads who are used to clouds and rain and lots of shade, it is heaven for history nerds like me. Ever since I was a little girl, I had been fascinated by ancient history, and ancient Egypt in particular. When I was given the opportunity to study archeology and anthropology in the Land of the Pharaohs, how could I pass it up?

So that was where I found myself now, in Cairo, on my way to class at the American University in the city, with the sun beating down on my feet, the only part of my body that was even partially exposed, in their flip-flops. The swaying of my long cream-colored peasant skirt mostly covered them, but I was sure I would have burn lines on them despite the gallon of sunscreen I had applied.

It wasn't a long walk from my tiny apartment to the University campus, only about ten minutes, and I was soon inside the- thank heaven!- air-conditioned building. I pulled off my hat and over-sized button shirt, revealing the more closely-fitted purple t-shirt underneath, and stuffed them into my book bag as I walked down the familiar hall to my classroom.

In the three-and-half months since I had come to Cairo I had adapted surprisingly- to myself, at least- well. I've never been a very outgoing person, but at the University, where everyone I met shared my passion for all things Egypt, it had been fairly easy to make friends. I saw one of those friends now as I stepped into the room where my first class of the day met. Most of the other twenty or so students in the class were already in their seats, and my friend looked up and waved at me.

Abigail was born in Kenya, but grew up in Ireland. The soft brogue in her speech was slightly surprising when contrasted with her espresso-colored skin and her night-black eyes and hair, which she kept natural, in tight curls cropped close to her head.

"Hello, Marianne," she called to me.

"Hey, Abby!" I grinned and took the desk next to hers. "How is _Gatsby_ treating you?"

Soon after we had met, Abigail and I had discovered our mutual love of classic novels, though there were several she had read that I hadn't, and vice versa. We had given each other lists of books to read and were working our way through them. She was currently on _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, while I had been assigned Joyce's _Ulysses_, which I was not particularly enjoying.

"I like it," she said. "It's a bit romantic. And how are you getting on with Mr. Joyce?"

"Not at all," I said, mock-disgustedly. "I don't even know what the heck he's saying half the time!"

"Yes, he can be a little cryptic," Abby said laughingly. "But I suppose no one could ever woo you away from Miss Austen?"

"True, but you're one to talk!" I knew that she loved Jane Austen just as much as I did.

As we laughed together, I was vaguely aware that the door had opened and someone had entered who was now taking the desk at the front of the room- the instructor's desk. This wasn't out of the ordinary at all, but the other students in the class were murmuring to each other a bit excitedly as if something unusual had happened. What was going on? I glanced toward the front of the room to see what the fuss was about, and my eyes popped wide in surprise.

The person looking back at me was not the one I was used to seeing at that desk. This was not the grizzled, bald-pated, pot-bellied, grandfatherly Dr. Ashraf, professor of Egyptology. This was someone else entirely.

"Good morning everyone," he said. His voice puzzled me. Like Abigail, he didn't look as though he should have the accent he had. His swarthy skin, crop of wavy black hair and the slightly Middle-Eastern set of his features were at odds with his speech, which had the lilting cadences of the British Isles- somewhere in southern England, if I wasn't mistaken.

"Dr. Ashraf will not be coming in and he has asked me to take over for today. I'm James, one of his graduate students." The class was perfectly silent. I was positive that our regular teacher had never received such undivided attention from us.

"Well," James continued, "today I feel extremely lucky because I get to teach a three-hundred class instead of the freshman level courses we TA's usually get stuck with." There were smiles and chuckles in response, and he rewarded us with a wide grin, then looked down to the open book in his hands.

Turning toward the blackboard and taking up a piece of chalk, he continued, "So... Hatshepsut..."

My ears perked up. Of all the figures in ancient Egyptian history, Hatshepsut had always intrigued me the most. A lot of girls would gravitate toward Nefertiti, since she was so beautiful and had that famous bust made of her, or even Cleopatra, who, though not really Egyptian, was still a very interesting woman and important to Egyptian history. But, in my opinion, these two paled in comparison to Hatshepsut. She was a truly innovative leader. I often thought of her (and I'm sure I wasn't the first to come up with this) as the Elizabeth I of ancient Egypt.

"Hopefully you have all done your reading so I won't have to explain who she was... Of course, the good stuff didn't happen until after she died, when Thutmose the third took the throne that was rightfully his and rescued the empire from the economic ruin Hatshepsut had left in her wake..."

My jaw dropped open in shock. What? Was he seriously going to bash possibly the most successful ruler Egypt ever had, at least in the 18th dynasty? And was he really going to glorify Thutmose, a whiny teen-aged boy who couldn't handle having a strong female in power? I thought surely he must be joking, but as he went on, I saw that that was exactly what he intended to do.

I wanted to interject so many times. Twice I even almost raised my hand to offer my opinion, but I was too chicken. And besides, aside from the very misguided bias, it was actually a very good lecture. I would have enjoyed it had not every feeling revolted to its content. As it was, I didn't want to interrupt.

At least, that's what I told myself.

When the hour was over and the class dismissed, I turned to Abigail. She wore a dazed, almost awestruck expression that I was sure must look like the opposite of my slightly suspicious confusion. She looked at me, then her brow furrowed as she caught my glance.

"What's wrong?" she wondered.

"You didn't notice?" I said. "Hatshepsut..." I trailed off.

Comprehension crossed her delicate features, then amusement as she said, "Oh, yes, I forgot she's your hero. Why didn't you say anything during the lecture?"

"I dunno," I mumbled. "I didn't think it was a discussion."

"Well, why don't you go say something now? That grad student is still here." She pointed to the front of the room, where James was shoving his notes and books into a leather satchel.

"What good would it do now?" I asked doubtfully.

Abby shrugged. "I don't know. You could at least let him know that there are other opinions than his."

"Right opinions," I grouched.

"That's the spirit. Come on, I'll go with you." She began dragging me toward the desk at the front of the room. "You really should be more outspoken with your thoughts. They're often brilliant."

_Yeah, okay,_ I thought to myself. We reached our destination and Abby nudged me forward a little. I glanced back at her, and she gave me an encouraging look. I turned to face the front again, where I ended up looking at the top of James' head as he bent over the desk to retrieve the last of his papers.

"Um... James?" I said, like it was a question.

He straightened abruptly to look at me- _I didn't realize he was so tall_- and in his haste lost his grip on his bag and the strap slipped off his shoulder and dropped to the floor. Papers scattered everywhere and I heard something metal thunk against the hardwood.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. He was on his knees instantly, grabbing the sheets he had so meticulously arranged before in crumpled handfuls and shoving them back into the satchel. I knelt, too.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you." I picked up a paper that had fluttered near me and handed it to him.

"Startled me is more like it," he said, smiling and meeting my eyes.

I blushed and looked down. I noticed a small, shiny object a couple of inches from my right hand. _This must be what made that thunk_. I picked it up to examine it. It was a ring. I couldn't figure out what metal it was made of; it was a yellowish color, but lighter than gold, almost silvery. There were tiny red stones encrusted in the thick band and what I thought must be lapis lazuli in the shape of a flower. It looked very old.

"Here," I said as James and I stood up. "You dropped this."

"Oh, thank you," he said, an unreadable expression on his face. I dropped the ring into his palm and he shoved it into his pants pocket. Then he smiled again. "Did you have a question, Miss..."

"Marianne," I offered. "Um... no, no question, just... good lecture." I turned away from his puzzled face and stalked out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II.

I was halfway up the flight of stairs around the corner from the classroom before I realized that Abigail was right beside me.

"What was that?" she wondered, amused, but a little bewildered. "I thought you were going to give him a piece of your mind."

I paused on the top step and turned to her. "I don't know..." I sighed. "It was just... he was _looking_ at me, like... like I was mentally challenged or something." I took the last stair and kept walking.

"Where are you going, Marianne?" Abby called from behind me.

I halted. I didn't have any other classes in this building; I had just started walking. Walking usually calmed me down when I was nervous or agitated or angry, and walking up stairs especially. Only walking _up_, though. Going down often got me worked up even more because I was always afraid I would fall.

"I'm okay now," I said, turning back to Abby, who was still standing on the second-from-the-top stair. I smiled. "Really. You should get going. You'll be late for your next class."

"If you want I could skip it and we could go have a cup of tea." She was such a good friend.

"Thanks, but I'm fine, really. I think I'll go to the library." We were on our way back down the stairs now. I was clutching the hand rail a bit too tightly.

"Alright, if you're sure. Meet me at noon in the dining hall?"

"Of course." I donned my hat and button shirt as we walked outside into the bright sunshine and re-adjusted the strap of my book bag on my shoulder.

We split up after our quick 'bye's, and I headed toward the University library. I had an hour until my next class, and I had decided to spend it trying to at least appreciate Joyce.

The library was my favorite place on campus. The building was over a hundred years old, which isn't saying too much in a country where there are structures that have stood for over four millennia, but to my American mind anything older than fifty was pretty impressive. Besides, it was beautiful. It was built in the Gothic revival period, with stone arches and stained glass windows, marble floors and columns holding up the fifteen-foot ceilings on all four storeys.

I went up to the second level and found one of my favorite comfy chairs in an alcove with a window. I plopped down with my legs curled up underneath me and pulled out the old, worn copy of _Ulysses_ I had borrowed from Abigail.

I couldn't concentrate, though. I had to admit that Joyce's use of language was beautiful, but why did it have to be so hard to understand? Frustrated, I closed the book and gazed at the front cover. Something under the illustration of a stone bridge caught my eye- the author's first name, James. I threw the book to the floor as if it had bit me and crossed my arms like a pouting child.

Recovering quickly from my tantrum- _that was real mature, Marianne_- I pulled a more comforting piece of literature from my book bag to read instead: _Pride & Prejudice_. But before my eyes even found their place on the page I heard soft laughter coming from behind the book stack nearest my chair.

My head snapped up, my eyes searching, automatically paranoid that someone had witnessed my foolish actions. My fear was legitimate, for who should have stepped out from behind the stack but James, looking right at me and wearing an infuriating grin.

I watched in shock as he came toward me and picked up the rejected book where it had landed, a few feet away from me.

"You don't care for Joyce, Miss Marianne?" he said, glancing at the cover and sitting down in the chair across from mine.

_Sure, go ahead, sit_, I thought, raising my eyebrows (both of them; I would have preferred to raise only one, but I had never been able to, no matter how long I practiced) and scowling at him.

Suddenly his whole demeanor changed. He looked... self-conscious? "I'm sorry," he stammered. "Do you mind if I join you?"

I sighed, my features softening into a kinder expression. "No, I don't mind. Sorry, I'm just in kind of a weird mood today. And, no, I don't particularly care for Joyce. He's awfully wordy."

He laughed outright at this. "So you banish him to the floor for the crime of... wordiness?"

I smiled sheepishly. I couldn't tell him the real reason I had thrown the book, so I just said, "Yeah."

"But I see you're getting along just fine with Austen," he said, gesturing to the book in my hands.

My smile grew wider. "Yeah. It must be a girl thing." Then I frowned. _Why is he being so nice to me? Oh, yeah, he doesn't know I hate him... Why do I hate him again?_

His face grew serious, but there was still laughter in his eyes. "So tell me, did you really enjoy the lecture or were you just saying that?"

_That's right, that's why I hate him_. "Well, I... what makes you think I was just saying that?"

He raised one eyebrow- _another reason to hate him!_- and said, "You were scowling at me the entire hour. Just like you are now, in fact."

Had it really been that obvious? "Scowling? I was not scowling, I was seething with disdain. And-"

"Oh, yes, enormous difference," he interrupted, muttering under his breath. Then he saw my expression. "I beg your pardon, please continue."

"And, okay, objectively, it _was_ a good lecture. I wasn't lying about that. I just..." I took a deep breath. "What do you have against Hatshepsut?"

"Ah." Understanding dawned in his face. "Yes, I did argue the Thutmose side rather blatantly, didn't I?"

"Like he was paying you or something."

He gave a short, amused laugh. "Don't I wish. But truly, I have nothing against Hatshepsut. She was a great ruler. I just happen to have an especially poignant interest in the reign of Thutmose the third."

_Obviously_. "And why is that?"

"Well, not in his reign so much as in one of his courtiers. A count named Sheftu."

"I've never heard of him."

"No, hardly anyone has. And there is very little real proof that he actually existed. But Dr. Ashraf believes he did, and that he was instrumental to Thutmose's succession to the throne." He was leaning forward in his chair now, talking excitedly.

I cocked my head to the side, intrigued in spite of myself. "Really? Instrumental? How? There was some kind of... coup?"

He smiled. "Not a coup. A revolution. The nobility, the army, the priests- they were all secretly loyal to Thutmose. They believed that he was the rightful Pharaoh. They rose up against Hatshepsut to place him on the throne. And they were led by Sheftu."

I was thoroughly immersed in the story by now. I shifted in my chair and leaned against the arm, holding my breath.

James continued. "After Thutmose became Pharaoh, he rewarded Sheftu for his service by making him a Count. He became the most powerful man in the empire besides the king. He was by the king's side for every decision of state- military, economy, everything."

"So he was to Thutmose what Senmut was to Hatshepsut."

He snorted. "Well, he wasn't the father of any of Thutmose's children, if that's what you mean."

"Hey, that has never been proven!" I said emphatically. "And even if Senmut and Hatshepsut did have an affair, so what? I don't blame her. If I had to marry my half-brother, I would probably have an affair, too."

"Fair enough." He was laughing. "And, yes, Sheftu did have the same political rank as Senmut, more or less, but I think he was even more trusted."

I considered this for a minute, looking at James, a trace of a smile still on his face. I finally said, "So that's how you explain your Hattie hate?"

I had made him laugh again; I seemed to be good at that, or maybe he was just naturally cheerful. This was an all-out belly laugh. "Hattie?" he gasped between hysterics.

A smile started to pull at the corners of my mouth. "Yes, Hattie. That's what I call Hatshepsut."

"And you accuse me of being too biased towards Thutmose? I'm sorry, but I find that extremely amusing."

I couldn't help it. I laughed, too. It _was_ funny.

Letting out a sigh, I glanced at the clock on the wall above James' head, then jumped up. "Oh, no," I said. "I have class in ten minutes. I have to go."

James had stood when I had, and now he towered above me. I had to tip my head back to look into his face. He was looking at me strangely, like when I had handed him that mysterious ring earlier in the morning. It was not the same expression, though. The difference was in his dark eyes; they were softer, kinder, less distant than before, but there was a tightness around the corners of his mouth.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make you late."

"I'm not late yet," I said, smiling. I was sure I was blushing, too, just a little. I bent to pick up my book bag, then slung it over my shoulder and put _Pride & Prejudice_ back into it. "Besides, even if I were late it wouldn't be because of you."

"Alright, then." He said it as if conceding victory. "Until next time, Miss Marianne."

"Okay, bye." I turned and walked away, heading toward the elevators. I wasn't even going to _attempt_ walking down a flight of stairs.

I was only disappointed that I still had another two hours of classes before I could see Abby and tell her about this most interesting conversation.

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! I'm going to try to do at least a chapter a week. That shouldn't be too hard right now since I'm on break, but when class starts again in January it might be a little more difficult. Stick with me, though, I know where the story is going!**

**Thanks again,**

**Rhonda**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III.

The next morning I took more care and time than usual in getting ready for class. I chose a blue-green cotton tunic, with embroidered flourishes around the neckline and on the sleeves, that matched the color of my eyes. I brushed my hair until it crackled, the shine bringing out glints of gold in the pale copper strands, and pulled the sides back into a clip, leaving a few smaller pieces out to frame my face.

I had lain awake past midnight the previous night thinking about the story James had told me in the library. _"...a revolution... secretly loyal to Thutmose... rose up against Hatshepsut... led by Sheftu..." _Sheftu, the count whose existence had not yet been proven, but who, if James and Dr. Ashraf were correct, had orchestrated the replacement of Hatshepsut with Thutmose on the throne of Egypt.

The idea seemed far-fetched to me, but intriguing all the same. I wanted to ask James to tell me more about it, and as I took a last quick look in the mirror before grabbing my book bag and heading out the door, I decided to do just that.

I breezed into the classroom as if floating on a cloud and alighted into my usual seat. I had beaten Abigail to class for once in my eagerness. She wasn't far behind me, though. I barely waited a minute before she was sliding into the seat next to mine and we were exchanging good mornings.

"You look nice today," she said. "I like your hair like that."

"Thanks." I blushed a little. "Just thought I'd try something different."

There were only three other students in the room. Two were female, and they sat close together speaking in hushed yet excited tones about something. The third was male, a guy I sort of knew, another American, named Kevin, sitting two rows behind me.

"Hey, Marianne," he called to me. "Do you have notes from yesterday? I wasn't here." Then he cleared his throat. _Why didn't he do that _before_ he talked?_

Pretending to search for notes, but knowing I wouldn't find any, as I hadn't written down one word yesterday except the date, I hastily flipped through my notebook. "Nope, sorry. They're not here." I looked back at Kevin with what I hoped was an apologetic smile.

"I do," said Abby, whipping out about six meticulously hand-written pages, front and back, no doubt cross-referenced and with footnotes, and handing them over to Kevin. "I haven't had a chance to type them yet, so I'm afraid you'll have to decipher my handwriting."

I laughed to myself, then noticed that Kevin was gazing at Abigail with a slightly awestruck expression. _Hmmm..._ "Th-that's okay," he stammered, his ears red, as he took the notes and turned to stare down at his desk.

Abby turned back to me, and I looked at her with a meaningful smile. "What?" she said, her eyes widening in innocent surprise.

I shook my head. "Oh, nothing."

By now most of the class had filed into the room and found their seats. I had subconsciously kept an eye on the door, waiting for one person in particular to come through it. _He probably won't even be here today. Dr. Ashraf is probably back. _

But, sure enough, at 30 seconds to eight, there he was. His eyes found mine, and his somewhat pensive expression immediately softened into an amused smile. _Do I have something on my face? _

He walked straight to my desk, two rows from the front, pulling a book out of his leather bag and holding it out to me. It was Abigail's copy of _Ulysses_. "You forgot this yesterday, Miss Marianne," he said, still smiling. "Or, perhaps, given your distaste for Joyce, you left it on purpose."

I raised my eyebrows, wanting badly to come up with a biting retort, but the best I could do was, "Well, I don't think Joyce is too fond of me, either."

He laughed. _Why is he always laughing at me?_ "Impossible," he scoffed.

I took the book, my cheeks flushed, and said, "Thank you," though I wasn't quite sure what I meant by it.

"You're welcome," he said, then went to the front of the room to prepare for the lecture.

I was suddenly aware that the entire class was staring at me, including Abigail. I glanced over to meet her mystified gaze. "What?" I said.

Her face broke into a wide grin as she shook her head, saying, "Oh, nothing," echoing my earlier words and actions. We both turned to face the front, then, for James had started speaking.

"It was brought to my attention after class yesterday," he began, "that I was rather one-sided in my discussion of Hatshepsut and Thutmose the third. Today, we'll look at the other side."

Abigail nudged me with her elbow. I ignored her.

James continued, going over the points he had made the day before, this time explaining them with a pro-Hatshepsut slant. I was somewhat appeased.

When class was over I shoved my notebook and pen quickly into my bag, planning to act on the decision I had made earlier in the morning as soon as the aisle was clear. There was only one person in front of me, and I got out quickly.

But, as my feet carried me forward, for some reason my resolve crumbled, and I instead made a beeline for the door. I paused just outside the room, waiting for Abigail in the hall.

"What's the hurry?" she asked when she caught up to me. She still had that maddening amusement written clearly across her face.

"No hurry." I tried to sound nonchalant. "I just kind of have to go to the bathroom." I started heading toward the nearest restroom, half-way down the hall then around a corner. "See you at lunch?"

"Alright." She looked bemused for a second, then shrugged. "See you then."

"Bye." I did a little half-jump to start my hurried walk toward the bathroom. I really did have to go.

When I was done in the stall I turned a faucet on as hot as it would go, the water steaming as it hit the cold porcelain of the sink and scalding my hands. I turned the knob all the way to the blue side, then let the water run, waiting for it to cool before I splashed it on my face.

_What is wrong with me?_

I had never been a social butterfly, but I had always at least been confident enough to approach someone if I had a question to ask them. And today I'd had a burning question; I'd lost sleep over it, it was so compelling. _So why couldn't I just say, "Hey, James, so... about that Count Sheftu guy..."_

What was so hard about that?

...

James taught the class every day for the rest of that week. On Friday I finally worked up the courage to talk to him after class was over. I walked confidently up to where he stood, bent over the desk as he had been that first day. I waited for him to look up.

"Ah, Miss Marianne. Hello." He smiled when he saw me.

"Why do you call me that?" I said, noticing for the first time the "miss" he always put in front of my name.

His brow furrowed. "Didn't you say your name was Marianne?"

"Yeah, but what's with the 'miss'?"

He let out a short laugh. "I don't know, really. It just seemed as though I should call you 'Miss.' Though, now that you bring it up, it does seem vaguely ridiculous, and perhaps a bit pretentious. I'll stop if you prefer."

"Oh, no, I don't mind." I actually kind of liked it, in a weird way. It reminded me of _Sense & Sensibility._ "I... had something I wanted to ask you, actually. I mean, besides that."

He looked at me, smiling and waiting. While I framed my question about Count Sheftu in my mind, trying to decide exactly how to word it, another thought popped into my head. "You never told us, where is Dr. Ashraf? He's been gone a week now."

His expression changed in an instant. His mouth flattened into a hard line, his eyebrows pulled together low over his eyes. His shoulders sagged as he let out a slow breath through his nose. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something, for he nodded once, then looked at me again.

"I'm going to tell you something that I haven't told anyone else in the world. I don't know why, but I am, and you are sworn to secrecy." I nodded. "Dr. Ashraf... " He paused, let out another slow breath. "... is missing."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV.

I blinked.

The full force of the idea didn't immediately register. I repeated it in my head several times- _missing... missing... missing_- until the word detached from its meaning, becoming merely a handful of letters, a string of phonemes with no literal context. I blinked again and my mind snapped back to attention, like a camera lens focusing on the subject of a photograph.

"Missing?" I repeated out loud. James looked grim. "What kind of missing, like he went on vacation and just didn't tell anyone? Or... ?" I trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "He telephoned me Sunday evening and asked me to teach the class on Monday. He didn't explain why. On Monday evening I went over to his flat to return a book I had borrowed and... he wasn't there."

James shrugged and let out a deep sigh, then continued. "The front door was unlocked. In fact, I believe I recall that it was even opened a crack. His desk looked as if it had been rummaged through." He gave a strange little laugh, and said, "The papers on top of it were in far better order than he keeps them himself."

A beat of silence passed before I wondered, "Was anything missing?"

James looked at me sharply, as if he had forgotten I was listening, then shook his head. "I couldn't tell. I didn't bother to look too closely."

He was silent again; this time I was, too, until he said, almost whispering, "It's been five days. I've had no message, no telephone call, nothing. I'm beginning to fear the worst."

I furrowed my brow. "What about Dr. Ashraf's family? Do they know where he is?"

One corner of James's mouth lifted ruefully. "I am his only family here. He's my uncle."

"Your uncle?" I said, surprised.

"Yes, my mother's brother."

"Oh." I had a new crop of questions already forming in my mind, but I turned my focus to the immediate problem. "Are you going to call the police?"

"I am... hesitant... to rely on the police."

"Then..." _What are you supposed to do again when someone is missing in a foreign country?_ But, of course, to Dr. Ashraf, Egypt was not foreign. "The Embassy?" I offered anyway.

"What embassy?" James looked almost helpless, just for a second. Then he shook his head. "I have dual British and Egyptian citizenship, but Uncle is an Egyptian national. The British Embassy can't help, nor the American."

A seed of determination was growing steadily in my gut, and now it burst forth. "Well, we have to do something!" I exclaimed. "What if he's in danger?"

"'We'?" he repeated quietly, one eyebrow raised. Then his expression drooped and his head sank into his hand, rubbing his forehead.

"The... collective, ambiguous 'we'... I mean," I explained, though I wasn't sure that was really what I had meant. "Unless... there's anything I can do...?"

James was shaking his head again. "I shouldn't have told you. I didn't mean to get you involved."

_Typical male_. "You said you haven't told anyone else, right? Not even the University?"

"Yes, I suppose the University should know, though they won't be able to help," he said thoughtfully. "But, really, I'm dreadfully sorry I even told you about this. I don't want you worrying needlessly."

"_Needlessly_?" I was incredulous. "Uh, if ever there was a _need_ for worry, I'd say a _missing person_ would be at the top of the list!" I huffed, then continued more calmly, "And since you don't want anyone else to know, I'm the only one who _can_ worry."

I glanced at his face to see if my logic was having any affect on him. He only looked a teensy bit skeptical, so I kept going. "You're going to search for him yourself, aren't you?" He nodded jerkily. "Let me help. Two heads are better than one." I smiled, I hoped reassuringly. "Kind of cliché, I know, but it's true, alright?"

A ghost of a smile crossed James's face. "You-" he stopped abruptly, then seemed to change his train of thought and resign himself to saying, "Yes, you do have a point."

... ... ... ... ...

Dr. Ashraf's apartment was only a five minute walk from the campus. James had decided to take me there when I was done with classes for the day to show me how he had found it. He also thought it would be a good starting point for our search. As we left the University, I pulled on my long-sleeved white shirt and straw hat and re-adjusted the strap of my book bag over my shoulder.

I was shocked to hear James laugh, and turned to him sharply. "What?"

"Are you allergic to sunlight?" he said, still laughing.

I rolled my eyes. "Pretty much, yeah. At least, this harsh of sunlight." James shook his head. "Hey, you should consider yourself lucky. These freckles," I said, pointing to my face, "not even close to the worst damage the sun can do to my pasty white skin."

"But I like your freckles." He smiled at my wary expression. "Really, they're charming."

"Nice save," I muttered, and was met with another chuckle.

We were silent for a minute or two before I asked, "So, what book was it?"

"Book?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"The book you were returning when you found... you know." I didn't want to say what he had found.

"Oh, that book. It was a Bonaparte biography."

That was not what I had expected from a professor of Egyptology. When I said as much, James explained, "Well, quite a lot of this book was devoted to Napoleon's Egyptian Campaign."

"The Rosetta Stone," I murmured, remembering my classes in hieroglyphics.

James had switched into teacher-mode. "Yes, very good. And do you know who the chief translator of the Stone was?"

I gave him what I hoped was a withering glance. "Champollion. Do I get a gold star now?"

He laughed, but didn't answer, for we had stopped walking and were standing in front of a sterile concrete apartment building. "This is it," said James.

I gazed up at the huge stone block in disbelief, then spun to look across the street. During our walk I had been so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed where we were heading. The building on the other side of the unusually quiet road from Dr. Ashraf's place of residence was where I lived.

James noticed my expression and sounded concerned when he said, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. _Probably just coincidence._ "Nothing, I just... had one of those moments. You know, like, when you're thinking about something and your brain is going and it's like 'enhhh,' but then it just like goes 'eh,' and it stops and you forget what you were thinking about?"

I was babbling. I glanced up into James's bemused face, then shook my head again. "Anyway, this is his apartment?"

For a minute I thought he wasn't going to let it go, but then he collected himself (more subtly than I had) and said, "Yes. Third floor." Then he pushed open the glass door and motioned for me to go in.

The building's elevator was out of order, so we had to take the stairs. I counted two flights of stairs, then stepped onto the third floor landing and started down the hall. It took me a couple of steps to realize James wasn't behind me.

"Where are you going?" he called from the stairs.

"You said third floor," I called back, then remembered that silly British habit of calling the first floor the "ground floor," and the second floor the "first floor," and so on. Before he could respond, I said, "Oh, but you meant fourth floor, didn't you?" and met him half-way up the third flight of stairs.

From his position two steps above me, James's height seemed particularly imposing. He grinned down at me. "No, I meant the third floor." He turned and started up the stairs again, talking over his shoulder. "It's at the top of the _third_ flight of steps, so it's the third floor."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "But it's the fourth _floor_!"

He laughed. "You and your logic."

We had reached the landing, now (the _fourth floor_ landing), and James lead me to the end of the hall, stopping at the very last door on the right. He pulled a brass key from his trouser pocket and fitted it into the lock, turned, and gently pushed the door open.

The apartment looked pretty much as I had expected it to: smallish, shabby yet comfortable, a bit messy, with a few antiques and pieces of art here and there, and absolutely bursting with books. I stood in the center of the round oriental rug and turned slowly, taking them all in. Nearly every available wall space was occupied by shelves, stacked two-deep, and piles of books seemed to sprout from the floor.

James searched the desk under the window quickly but thoroughly. "I don't think there's anything missing," he said, mostly to the air, since I wasn't really paying attention.

I was too busy looking at all the books. Behind the worn leather arm chair I had discovered a smaller bookcase, the kind with glass doors on the front. I gingerly touched the tarnished knob of the right door and tugged gently, breathing in the smell of aged paper. This must be Dr. Ashraf's antique book collection. My eyes took them in greedily.

"I'm going to check the bedroom," James said, and turned down the microscopic hallway.

"Okay," I called absently, pulling one of the ragged cloth-bound volumes out with infinite care. The title had faded from its cover, but the title page indicated that it was the first volume of Dumas' _The Count of Monte Cristo_. I leafed through the pages slowly, glancing at the publication date, then did a double-take. That couldn't be right, could it? If it was, then this book was a first edition!

I was pulled out of my reverie by James calling my name. "Marianne!" He sounded agitated. I looked up as he emerged from the hallway holding a scrap of paper and sat down at the desk again. "I found something!"

I hauled myself to my feet, Dumas forgotten, and looked over James's shoulder at the paper he was poring over. "A note?" I wondered.

"Yes, I think so." He had pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pen and was scribbling furiously.

I took a closer look at the note. "Is that hieratic?"

"Yes," he murmured, and kept writing. I barely remembered even the little hieratic I had learned, but I had deciphered three or four of the symbols by the time James was done translating the whole note.

"There!" he said triumphantly. Then he read his translation, and his shoulders began to sag. "Oh, no," he breathed. "No."

"What is it?" I was more than a little scared of his answer, but instead of speaking, he simply handed me the translation to read for myself.

_James-_

_If you are reading this note, I have been taken. Don't worry, they won't kill me. But they want information that only you and I know. I will do my best to stall them, but they will most likely come for you next. Don't try to find me. Run._

I read it three times before looking up. James was watching me, his face inscrutable. I shoved the note back into his hand and demanded, "Explain."

**Okay, I know this took forever. I'm sorry! This quarter really kicked my butt, so there's no need for all you have been waiting patiently to do that. In fact, I only finished this chapter because I'm putting off finishing my final paper for my poetry class. Spring Break is approaching, so I'm hoping I'll be able to get a few more chapters in. Again, sorry! And thank you for being patient, or, if you weren't patient, for liking my story enough to want to read more!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V.

"They call themselves the Royal Guard," James began slowly. "I didn't think it would come to this." He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands, shoulders hunched.

I dropped to my knees beside his chair. "Who are they?"

"A secret society." James turned to look down at me. "A militant secret society," he corrected himself. Then he must have seen my horrified expression, because he hurriedly reassured me, "But uncle is right; they won't hurt him. They wouldn't gain anything that way, and they know it."

I was still confused. "So, this... Royal Guard... they're holding Dr. Ashraf for ransom? Do you have to drop off a briefcase somewhere?" I bit my lip and glanced down. "Sorry, bad joke."

James couldn't suppress a hint of a smile before answering. "No. They don't want money. They want information. Or, rather, they want to _keep_ information, keep it secret."

"What information? The note says you know it, too?"

"Yes..." he said warily. "I actually told you a bit of it as well. I shouldn't have, I knew I shouldn't have, but I did. Now you're probably in danger as well. Dammit."

I rose into a kneeling position and grasped the arm of the desk chair. "What did you tell me that you shouldn't have?"

James closed his eyes, shaking his head and letting out a huge sigh. "Do you remember that day in the library?"

I must have blushed a million shades of red, all the ones with creative paint sample names like "vermillion" and "cranberry kiss," thinking about how he had caught me throwing a minor tantrum over Joyce's _Ulysses_ in the library that day—was it only a week ago?—and then how strange yet wonderful it had been just sitting and talking with him. But all I said was, "Yeah?"

"I-" James was cut off by the sound of shattering glass coming from the back of the apartment. We both shot to our feet and he whirled toward the hallway, telling me to stay where I was while he headed into the bedroom.

A split second later I stepped forward to follow him, but he had already turned around, running like the dickens for the front door.

"Marianne! Get out! _Now_!" he yelled.

I froze.

He grabbed my arm as he flew past me and yanked me out the door. As we stumbled down the first flight of stairs, I thought I heard a sort of rumbling that sounded something like a small earthquake. We kept moving, my feet tripping over my own shoes, not stopping until we reached the sidewalk outside the apartment building.

James dropped my hand and bent over, placing his hands on his knees. A passing bicyclist veered around us, nearly smashing into a car parked next to the curb. I pressed myself against the sandstone wall behind me and put a hand on James' shoulder. He peered up at me through the hair in his eyes. "Are you all right?" he wheezed.

I snorted. "Am _I _all right? You look like you're having a heart attack."

"Thank you for your concern." He straightened and leaned against the wall next to me.

Pieces of hair were falling into my face, sticking to the drops of sweat that were springing up on my skin, understandably, after my downhill sprint. I gathered the strands in one fist and twisted the mass over my shoulder.

"What happened?" I ventured after a moment. "Up there, I mean. I don't usually go down stairs that fast."

"Neither do I. It was a bomb," he said, having finally caught his breath.

"A _WHAT?_" I looked at him, his arms crossed and eyes halfway closed, just leaning against the wall like it was no big deal. "Who? Was it..."

I didn't have to finish the question before he nodded. "Had to be."

"But you said they weren't dangerous."

"No, I didn't. Not exactly." He turned to me. "Marianne, we can't stand talking out here on the street."

"Um, okay. We can go to my apartment, I guess?"

"Where is it?"

I pointed. "Across the street."

… …

James stood awkwardly in the middle of my tiny living room while I hung up my book bag, which I had miraculously retained through a small explosion and a sprint at near-Olympic speed.

"You can sit down." I gave him a shaky smile as he perched on my creaky futon. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Iced tea?"

"Do you have anything stronger?"

I couldn't blame him. "I'm afraid not."

"Water, please."

I swept into the kitchen and pulled two bottled waters from the fridge, then sat cross-legged next to James on the futon and handed him one. "Thank you," he murmured as he fiddled with the cap then drank half the bottle in one gulp.

I was growing impatient.

"So," I began. "A secret society kidnapped Dr. Ashraf and then threw a bomb into his apartment. Is that an accurate recap?"

He nodded.

"Because Dr. Ashraf knows something that they don't want him to know?"

Another nod.

"But... apparently they won't kill him?"

James twirled his water bottle cap in his fingers as he sank back into the futon. It worried me that he didn't answer.

"What kind of mobsters _are_ they?" I blurted. "Have they even seen _The Godfather_?"

James closed his eyes and began to shake silently. _Crap_, I thought, _my inappropriate sense of humor strikes again_.

I tentatively put a hand on his arm. "Hey, James, I'm sorry. I..."

He turned toward me, a huge grin lighting up his whole face as he let out a giant, full-fledged belly laugh. I giggled sheepishly back at him, relieved.

"How do you do that?" he said when we'd settled down a bit.

"Do what?"

"Make me laugh so hard it hurts? Brighten every room you enter?" His voice grew soft. "Send my heart into somersaults every time I look at you?"

My face had definitely turned cranberry kiss red. "I don't, uh-" I stuttered, "It- I- um... Hey! Don't change the subject. This is serious."

He sighed and sat up a little straighter. "Yes, you're right. And I suppose, since you are now irrevocably involved in this situation, I should explain the whole to you, from the beginning."

And he did. I interrupted several times with questions, and a few snarky comments, but the facts were these: Dr. Ashraf was considered a bit of a rogue among Egyptology scholars, highly respected, but a bit eccentric.

Several years back, he'd stumbled upon some evidence that would change forever some details that had been accepted as facts of ancient Egyptian history, namely, the means by which Thutmose III had gained the throne. The evidence was a few traces of writing describing an Egyptian noble named Sheftu, implying that he had been the driving force behind Thutmose's succession.

Dr. Ashraf, knowing that these few scraps of evidence were hardly enough to base a claim on, told only a few people about his find, including James, and continued to dig and research until he had substantial support for his theory.

He was almost ready to publish his findings when he began to receive threatening notes from a secret society called the Royal Guard, who claimed their purpose was to "Protect the Honor of the Pharaohs." Apparently, making it widely known that a pharaoh had staged a military coup with the help of a non-royal and then forced his preceding pharaoh to kill herself would not be protecting either of those pharaohs' honor.

Dr. Ashraf disregarded the notes, though, and continued with his intention to publish his work. And now, it appeared that the Royal Guard had made good on their threats and taken Dr. Ashraf to prevent him from doing so.

James finished talking and I was silent for a moment. Then I wondered, "Then, what was the bomb for?"

"Probably to destroy his research and manuscripts, along with his entire flat."

I shook my head. "All those first editions." Then I wondered something else. "Are you positive that they won't do anything to hurt him?"

He gave me a long look, then said, "Not anymore."

I took a deep breath. "Then, we have to find him."

James nodded gravely.

"But how? They could have him anywhere."

"I do have one clue." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object, holding it out to me and dropping it into my palm.

It was the ring.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI.

For the twentieth time, I readjusted the strap on my evening gown (well, actually Abigail's evening gown; I had borrowed it for the night) and slid my foot out of my high heel to stretch my toes a little. I was dying for some water, but all the roaming waiters had on their trays was champagne or red wine.

I tapped James on the shoulder. "I'm just going to get some air," I said, pointing up to the mezzanine that led out to a lit balcony. I barely waited for his nod before slipping up the stairs and out into the cool night.

The balcony spanned the length of the entire side of the building. I spied a few chairs scattered here and there, but instead of sitting I decided to stand by the stone railing in the farthest corner, looking out over the city.

I could see the Nile from here, a shimmering silver ribbon in the night, glowing with the reflection of electric lights that muted the stars. How different this view must have been four thousand years ago, I thought. That same river that had been the life's blood of slave and pharaoh alike for century upon century was now watering a very changed world.

I kicked off both my shoes, my feet luxuriating in their new freedom with the stones beneath them still warm from the sun, and stepped closer to the railing. As I leaned forward, the chain around my neck swung out with the weight of the object strung on it.

The ring.

I'd considered wearing it on my finger, but was afraid I'd lose it; having it on a chain seemed safer. James had said it was made of electrum, and I had been right in thinking it was very old; it was from the 18th Dynasty. It had belonged to Count Sheftu. And it would lead us to the Royal Guard.

… … … …

I took a deep breath. "Then, we have to find him."

James nodded gravely.

"But how? They could have him anywhere."

"I do have one clue." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object, holding it out to me and dropping it into my palm.

My fingers instinctively curled around the cool, small weight of it, bringing it closer to my face for inspection. It was the ring that he'd had the day we met, the one he dropped and I picked up for him. I remembered the pale silvery-yellow color of the metal and the vibrant lapis flower in the thick setting.

"How old is this?" I murmured.

"About thirty-five hundred years," James answered.

My head snapped up. "No! Where did you get it?"

"My uncle gave it to me," he said. "His father gave it to him. I don't know where he got it. Maybe from _his_ father..." he trailed off.

"How is it a clue? Where do we need to go?"

He turned his gaze back to me. "Thebes."

… … … …

So we were going to Thebes, Waset, as it was known to the pharaohs before the Greeks came. Home to all the glories of ancient Egypt: the Valley of the Kings, the Temples of Karnak and Hatshepsut, and the temple from which the city derives its modern name: Luxor.

In Thebes, Lord Sheftu's ring would be the key to the hiding place of the Royal Guard. But before we could go to the city, James said, we needed the help of Dr. Ismail Abdalla, Dr. Ashraf's long-time friend and colleague and the only other person besides James, and now me, who knew the whole of Dr. Ashraf's findings and research.

Which was why I was wearing an evening gown and three-inch heels. Dr. Abdalla was attending a gala at the Egyptian Museum that night, and James thought it would be the best chance to speak with him as soon as possible.

… … … …

"A gala, huh?" I said, still in my living room, absentmindedly rubbing the ring between my fingers. "Sounds fancy."

A corner of James' mouth quirked up. "I suppose it is. You can use uncle's invitation, as I reckon he won't be needing it."

"You—you want me to go with you?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

Uncertainty passed over his face. "Well, if you don't want to, you don't—"

"No, I want to," I said quickly.

His smile returned. "All right, then."

After we made arrangements when and where to meet and he left, I called Abigail, frantic. I didn't tell her anything about Dr. Ashraf, only that I needed her help with my hair and makeup, and to borrow a dress, if it wasn't too much trouble. The only ones I owned were cotton sundresses, more suited to tire swings than limousines.

Abby arrived with an entire department store in tow. She laid out her arsenal of cosmetics, hair products and appliances, plus five or six wardrobe choices, in my bedroom and the closet I called a bathroom adjacent to it.

We quickly discovered that though we were somewhat close to the same size, the only dress of hers that fit me comfortably enough for me to even move was a pale, creamy gold chiffon that was fitted around the chest and upper waist, then floated out in layers to swirl around my legs. There was also some beading around the neckline, and the shade of gold, I thought, actually looked pretty with my coloring. It was a little long, hence the three-inch heels, and just the teensiest bit snug; I didn't have Abigail's supermodel figure.

Back in shorts with the dress on its hanger, I sat in my desk chair in front of the bathroom mirror while Abby worked on my hair with a curling iron.

"Good choice with the dress," she was saying.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," I agreed. "I hope I'll be able to breathe."

Abby laughed. "You'll be fine. It looks better on you than it does me. I'm sure James will think so, too," she said with a mischievous smile.

I shot her a glare in the mirror, but couldn't stop the blush from creeping into my cheeks.

"So," she continued after a minute, "On this date—"

"It's not a date," I said matter-of-factly. "It is the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities' Presidential Gala."

"But you're dressing up for it."

"Well, yes. It's a gala. Clearly, you have to dress up for a gala."

"Sure." She shook her head, smiling. "All right, hold still. You're almost done," she said, reaching for a can of hairspray. "Close your eyes."

I dutifully clamped them shut while Abby sprayed about a gallon of chemicals onto my head. When she finished I opened them and turned my head slightly from side to side, admiring her work. She'd given me soft curls, then loosely pulled the sides of my hair up to the crown of my head, with the ends trailing down the back.

"Wow," I said. "I look almost pretty."

"You look beautiful, Marianne."

I turned to her with a grin and a hug. "You really are my friend!"

… … … …

Abigail pulled her car to a stop and I cautiously stepped out, trying not to muss my dress or hair. I leaned down, looking into the car, once I'd extracted myself successfully.

"Thanks, Abby," I said. "I mean, for everything, just..." Why was I getting teary? "Just, thanks."

She looked confused for a second. "Of course," she said. Then, with a grin, "I'll want to hear all about your date tomorrow!" I swear she was laughing as she drove away.

I smoothed my skirt down and tugged on my white satin elbow-length gloves, turning toward the long walkway leading to the front steps of the museum. Passing the pond in the courtyard, flanked by its twin sphinx statues, I scanned the crowd lining up to the front doors to enter or standing in small clumps, looking for James. This was our agreed-upon meeting place.

He must have seen me before I spotted him, because when I did, he was already looking at me. He stood immobile as a statue in white tie and tails, his hair cropped shorter than when I'd seen him a few hours ago and his face wearing an expression of—what? Shock? Confusion? I lifted a tentative hand and waved to him, and the look was gone, replaced by his usual bemused smile. He started toward me.

"Hi," I said when he reached me.

He shook his head. "Hi, she says," he murmured, still smiling.

"Are you talking to yourself?" I said. "Do you need a moment?"

"I may need several moments," he answered. "You look... lovely, Marianne."

"Thanks," I whispered.

Then he held out his arm to me. "Shall we?" I placed my hand in the crook of his elbow as we walked up the steps together.

… … … …

I laughed a little at the memory of his gesture, and then mused about how surreal this entire day had been: I'd found out that my favorite professor had been kidnapped by some shady organization over an academic paper—I mean seriously, what was this, _The da Vinci Code_?—I'd narrowly escaped an exploding bomb, and now here I was on the roof of one of my favorite places in the world, wearing a beautiful dress, thinking about a guy.

I shivered involuntarily and noticed for the first time that it had grown cold. I turned around to retrieve my shoes just as approaching footsteps materialized into the very subject of my recent thoughts.

"There you are. And barefoot." He shook his head in mock admonishment. "What would the Queen say?"

"Which queen?" I shot back, grinning. He returned the expression and took my hand to help me balance while I stepped into my high heels.

"Marianne, you're freezing!" He clasped my gloved fingers between his palms.

"I'm fine," I answered, but he ignored me, moving his hands to rub my upper arms.

"Your skin is like ice!" he exclaimed. "Why did you stay out here so long?"

"I'm okay, really," I tried again. "Did you talk to Abdalla?"

"Yes, in fact, and I have something to show you." James shrugged out of his tailcoat and draped it over my shoulders, pulling the lapels together under my chin. "Let's get you inside."

He kept a hand on my back as he led me through the doors to the upper floor of the museum. But instead of rejoining the crowd on the ground floor, we walked the length of the mezzanine, stopping in front of a statue of Thutmose III.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" I wondered.

"Look at the bottom left corner of the inscription." James pointed to it, his finger hovering over an engraving of a flower.

I didn't get it. "Yeah...?"

"It's the same as the ring," he explained, lifting the chain around my neck to show me, brushing warm fingers against chilled skin.

I nodded mutely, keeping my gaze down and holding my breath. He let the ring drop, sliding on the chain, and his hand lingered under my chin for a moment, barely touching, before he pulled away. I let the breath out and looked up at him, his face inscrutable. For some reason, he sighed, then said, "Come on. I'll introduce you to Dr. Abdalla."

Following him to the ground floor, I puzzled over what had just happened, or didn't happen, or almost happened, or something. Was that my imagination?

I didn't have time to puzzle long before James turned in to an alcove off the east wing, where a man waited for us. He was about the same age as Dr. Ashraf, or perhaps a bit younger, with salt-and-pepper hair, heavy on the salt. He stood barely taller than I was without my heels, and like James, and every other man there, was dressed formally in white tie attire.

"Dr. Abdalla, may I introduce Miss Marianne Ford," James said. "Marianne, Dr. Ismail Abdalla."

I put out my hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

He took my hand, then surprised me by gently turning my arm and bowing slightly. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Ford. James has spoken very highly of you, and I can see that he did not exaggerate."

I gave a short laugh and glanced over at James, who was looking everywhere but at me.

"Ah, yes," Dr. Abdalla continued, "I've known him since he was a boy, and never before has a young lady so completely en—"

"Yes, well, we'd better get to the point," James interrupted. "Dr. Abdalla has agreed to help us get to Luxor."

"Indeed. I have a friend who owns a private river boat," Dr. Abdalla explained. "He uses it mainly for pleasure cruising, but it should serve quite well to take you up the Nile. I will join you in Luxor as soon as I am able."

I nodded, then turned to James. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

Even at sunrise, the docks on the east bank of the Nile were crowded and bustling. I yawned and blinked, my eyes slightly dazzled by the sun's reflection off the great river, as I followed James along the wharf, weaving and dodging around street vendors shouting their wares and children chasing feral dogs and haphazardly veering bicyclists.

I clutched my paper cup of Earl Grey, courtesy of James, to my chest and gripped his elbow more tightly, not wanting to be lost in the chaos. Glancing behind me, I thought I glimpsed a hooded figure in the crowd, a partially hidden face watching us intently, but when I looked again the vision was gone.

I shook my head. _Still need sleep._

We followed a bend in the river, taking a slight turn to the right, and within a few yards the crowd had abruptly thinned out. We were in a quieter part of town, with austere gated courtyards and date palms peeking over the walls.

We turned down a set of limestone steps to a small private dock where a sailboat was moored. I don't know much about boats, but I could tell this one was top-of-the-line. It was smallish, maybe about twenty feet long, and the deck of the boat was almost level with the dock.

"She certainly is yar," I remarked.

James gave me a funny look. "Are you a sailor, then?"

"No. Katherine Hepburn fan." He still looked confused. "_The Philadelphia Story_," I explained.

"Ah. Never saw it."

"Oh, you have to!" I exclaimed. "It's great! Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart—"

"And Cary Grant," James offered.

"Of course." Then, remembering James' last name, I thought of something: "Hey, do you think you're related to him?"

"Doubtful," he replied. "Grant wasn't his real name."

"Oh—"

Before I could finish the thought, a head and shoulders appeared through a trapdoor in the boat's deck. The man, who I judged to be perhaps in his late fifties, turned his head and caught sight of us, calling out, "James!" and his face breaking into a grin. He pulled himself onto the deck then hopped the boat's railing to join us on the dock.

"Dietrich!" James said, and clasped the man's hand in a firm shake.

I could tell the man was European, but his skin was tanned a deep brown and what hair he had sun-bleached almost white where it wasn't touched with gray. His eyes were a sharp, startling blue, and he spoke with a slight German lilt.

"It has been too long, my friend," Dietrich was saying. "But I am happy to be of service. Is this the lady, then?" he asked, turning to me.

"This is Marianne," James said.

I held out my hand. "Hi, nice to meet you," I smiled.

Dietrich took my hand, engulfing it in both of his, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, catching me off-guard.

"Oh! O... kay..." I fumbled awkwardly.

James hid a smirk behind his hand and Dietrich laughed outright at my embarrassment. "Don't you know it's bad luck not to kiss a bride!"

"Not to—what?"

"We can't tell you how much we appreciate your letting us borrow your boat, Dietrich," James interjected smoothly, guiding me toward the boat's railing to climb aboard.

"Of course you want to be on your way," the German continued. "I hope it hasn't been too long since you've sailed? You should be fine with _Nefertiti_ here." He patted the boat's hull affectionately. "She's never done me wrong."

I pulled myself onto the ship's deck and stepped back so James could do the same. Then he turned back to Dietrich. "We should be back in a week or so," he said.

"Oh, don't worry," said Dietrich. "Take all the time you need." He winked knowingly.

I plopped onto a padded bench near the stern, tossing my book bag at my feet and draining my tea cup, while Dietrich helped James cast off, knowing I would be completely useless if I attempted to help them. Once the sails had caught the wind and we were headed south, James joined me, hesitantly, sitting on a bench across from mine and not meeting my eyes.

I let a moment pass, then said, "What does Dietrich think we're doing?"

He sighed. "We couldn't tell him the real reason we needed to leave Cairo in such a hurry, so... Abdalla told him that you and I are... eloping." He looked up at me then, his expression uncertain, braced for my reaction.

I considered for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," I said. "That makes sense. I mean, no one would believe us as a couple, but I guess that's the most logical explanation there is if we don't want anyone to know about Dr. Ashraf." I smiled.

He was doing his inscrutable-face-thing again. "Why wouldn't anyone believe us as a couple?" he asked, his voice emotionless and flat.

I laughed nervously. "I don't know... I don't think—"

"All right, I've got the message, Marianne." He stood. "You're clearly not interested, so... we'll find my uncle together, but I'll leave you alone. It will be strictly business from now on. I am sorry if I have offended you." He started to walk away.

_What?_

"Wait!" I called, leaping to my feet. He paused and turned slightly. "I—" I faltered, then swallowed hard. "I am. Interested, I mean."

He took a step closer to me. "You are?" he asked, incredulous. "Then why...? Every time I try to flirt with you or touch you, you always—"

"I know." I didn't even want to think about how awkward my bright red face must have looked with my hair. I dropped my gaze to the wooden deck. "I'm... not very good at that."

"Good at what?" James asked softly. He moved closer; he was just a few steps away from me now.

"At... accepting... gentlemanly attentions," I mumbled, garnering a quiet laugh.

His feet slid into my field of vision, and I looked back up. He was grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning, his whole face alight and just inches from my own, and I caught my breath. He reached toward me to gently tuck a wind-loosened curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering to twine in my hair, and whispered, "Perhaps you just need more practice."

My heart threatened to hammer out of my chest as my head tilted up of its own volition, my eyes drifting closed as his mouth hovered over mine, almost, almost touching...

_**CLANG!**_

The sound of metal forcefully hitting metal made me jump away. I glanced around, looking for the source of the clamor, and didn't have to look long.

We'd collided with another boat, and the sides of the two vessels were now scraping jarringly against each other. A man popped up on the other boat, presumably its owner, and began yelling at us in Arabic. James rushed over to adjust our sails and we glided slowly away. "My apologies!" he yelled to the other boat's owner.

I giggled. James gave me a sharp look and I giggled again. I watched as his face relaxed into a sheepish grin, and then I giggled some more.

"Well," I said when I could speak again, "it looks like you've got things covered up here, so I'm going to go check out the cabin below deck."

I headed toward the ship's bow, where the trapdoor to below deck was, and as I passed James, still tending the sails, he stopped me and caught my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled me toward him to brush his lips over my fingers.

"Come back up when you've finished," he said. "We have much to discuss."

I raised my eyebrows (both of them); he raised just one of his (_dang him!_).

"Sounds ominous," I commented.

He smirked. "Oh, yes. Be afraid."

I flashed him what I hoped was a saucy look and turned to descend the ladder below deck. I didn't have long to look around, though, because as soon as my foot left the bottom rung, something hit me on the back of my head with a soft _thunk._ I couldn't even make a sound before the world turned black.


End file.
